


take your joy in me

by chthonicheart



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Dressing Rooms, Canon-Typical Classism, Canon-typical language, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romantic Fluff, Shopping Malls, sears is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chthonicheart/pseuds/chthonicheart
Summary: “This actually isn’t as hideous as I thought it was going to be,” David says as he opens the door.There’s a beat of silence, and then,“Wow,” says a voice that is very much not Stevie.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 34
Kudos: 347





	take your joy in me

**Author's Note:**

> wow, it's been a while, huh? sorry for falling off the face of the earth! believe it or not, I've been writing the whole time, I've just found it absurdly difficult to finish anything. 
> 
> but i managed to finish this, so fuck yeah for me. 
> 
> this was based off the meet cute prompt of 'You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.' 
> 
> i also used this as an excuse to challenge myself to write something (intentionally) under 4k and well. oops? does 200 words over count? no? guess i'll just have to try again ;)
> 
> this is unbeta'd, but read over by me & grammarly.

David wants to make one thing clear. 

The only thing getting him through this absolute shitfest of a day is the mall pretzels that are promised to be waiting for him once he’s finally done in here. 

Work has been even more stressful than usual this week. While his job as a brand manager for a woman who has absolutely no idea what she's doing is hardly what one would consider an emotional cake-walk, she means well. Working with Wendy truly has been the greatest trial of patience he's endured so far, blowing the motel and all of the self-congratulatory circle-jerking in the New York art crowd out of the fucking water.

Truthfully, David doesn't understand how his boss hasn't managed to tank her business by now. It only speaks to the taste levels of the surrounding areas that her business has somehow managed to thrive here. 

But he's here now. He'll introduce the locals to styles and trends they won't understand, and slowly they'll acclimate. Then, maybe, if he's lucky, this place will get just a bit more bearable. 

David sighs. There are worst places to be, sure, and most of the time he clings to the stray thought that he might actually be starting to _like_ it here. Which he would not have thought was even a few months ago. 

Working for a clueless boss, however, isn't even the worst of it, because of course it isn't. The worst if are all of the belligerent, infuriating customers that always seem to have an opinion for him no matter how busy he appears to be. Add in the fact that they have next to no respect for personally boundaries, and David is about at his rope's end by the time the end of the day rolls around.

David personally sends out a silent heartfelt apology to every retail employee he's been even slightly rude to in the past. Being on the other side of it has been a journey he never thought he'd weather, and it is decidedly not fun. 

Luckily for him, though, the only thing sharper than his taste is his tongue.

He’s been noticing that pattern a lot, recently. 

By the time David picks him up from work, to say David's feeling frazzled beyond compare (and in desperate need of some retail therapy) would be putting it mildly. Despite there not being a mall in the greater thousand-mile area he would willingly subject himself to sober, they have plans that include mall pretzels. 

David puts few things before mall pretzels. 

Pride is not one of them.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” David grunts. How he's found himself in a dressing room trying on poor imitations of his designer sweaters is beyond him, but he'd like to argue that Stevie is simply that powerful.

This might be the worst thing she's talked him into, and he's including that time she thought it would be funny to take him to the defunct sushi place in Elm Valley.

It was decidedly not funny.

“This would be a faster process for you if you shut up,” Stevie reminds him, mildly.

As if he'd already forgotten when she'd tried that five minutes ago. A polite person would take that as the warning it is, but David is not feeling very polite right now. Whining is cathartic, and Stevie is the perfect audience. 

David rolls his eyes. “I can move my mouth and try on clothes at the same time, Stevie. I’m not a child.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” she quips. “You’ve been in there for ten minutes, David. How complicated can the clothes you’ve picked be?”

“Um, you’ve known me for how long now, and you still think that’s an appropriate question to ask?” 

Stevie sighs. “I will leave you here if you don’t hurry up.” 

“Ugh, fine,” David mutters. He stares at the off-brand department store sweater as long as he can bring himself to. “Fuck, how did you manage to talk me into this again?”

“You dragged us here for pretzels,” Stevie reminds him. “The least you could do is entertain me by trying on some clothes.” 

David sighs. “Well, luckily for you, these clothes are scraping the bottom of ‘barely acceptable’ or I wouldn’t be trying on _anything_.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stevie says, not appreciating his sacrifice as much as it undoubtedly deserves. “The pretzel place you like closes in thirty minutes.” 

Well, if that’s not motivation if he’s ever heard it. Stevie really does know the only way to possibly motivate him with is food, which is one of the many reasons they’re best friends. Coincidentally, she is also one of the select few willing to put up with David at all, but that’s a separate, distant thing.

David takes a deep, calming breath, one he hopes will be enough to carry him through putting this disgusting thread count against his skin. If he’s really zen, maybe he’ll even be able to make it through with little-to-no bitching about it. 

Not that Stevie deserves his consideration, but he is nothing if not giving. 

“I’m going to have to moisturize my body tonight in apology,” he grumbles to himself, though it echoes loudly through the room. 

There’s a startled laugh. It sounds a little less like Stevie than he’d like, but figures she’s probably distracted by her phone. That’s fine, David’s more than happy to continue complaining to himself. He makes a private promise to do a body mask the next time he has the motel room to himself for a few hours to make up for the traumatizing experience laying right ahead of him. 

He slowly starts to peel off his clothes, folding them carefully in the corner of the dressing room’s bench. 

David figures the only way through this with as much dignity as possible is to get it over with just as quickly. He blows out an annoyed (but warranted) breath nonetheless and shoves the clothes on before he can talk himself out of it. The sooner he endures the torture, the quicker he can collect his reward.

(Mall pretzels have been and always will be the superior food court dish.)

Once the monochrome sweater and acid wash jeans are on, David can admit that aside from the horrible fabric quality, they’re not far off from what he’d usually wear. In fact, David would venture to say he might actually wear this anyway. It’s nice (in the loosest definition of the word) and it has been so long since he’s been able to pick something up that wasn’t off of eBay. Or Poshmark. 

Or whatever sketchy app Alexis is using to buy her clothes off of that month. 

He’s already bracing himself for the smug look that will no doubt be taking over Stevie’s entire face. She’s insufferable when she’s right (but then again, so is David), though he could admit this one might be worth gloating over. Rarely does he admit defeat when it comes to his opinions on fashion. 

He would probably be more offended if she weren’t suitably insufferable about it. 

“This actually isn’t as hideous as I thought it was going to be,” David says as he opens the door. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then, 

“ _Wow_ ,” says a voice that is very much _not_ Stevie. 

David whirls around to see who exactly it is — he does notice that Stevie is, of course, nowhere in sight and clearly hasn’t been for a while — but then he’s knocked speechless. 

The man in front of him is charming and attractive in the small town, homegrown kind of way David never truly appreciated before. Before Schitt’s Creek, before losing New York, possibly before this very moment itself entirely. 

The button-down he’s wearing is thin and baby blue, a color David actually quite likes against the alabaster of the man’s skin. There’s a light gathering of stubble on his jawline that bleeds over onto his cheeks, and it should look ridiculous (not to mention messy) but it doesn’t. Or maybe it does and David likes the look of it anyway.

It doesn’t matter.

(It feels like it does.)

“Oh, um, you’re not Stevie,” blurts David. He can feel the back of his neck start to heat up in response. 

“I am not Stevie, no,” the man replies, sounding amused. “If you’re talking about the brunette who left a few minutes ago, I think she mentioned something about pretzels.” 

Ugh. 

David groans, unable to help the dramatics regardless of how attractive his current audience may or may not be. 

“Figures,” he mutters to himself. He looks around the otherwise empty dressing room lobby around them and raises an eyebrow at the man standing just across from him. Is he really going to continue standing there for no reason? “So…are you loitering in front of the dressing rooms like a creepy peeping Tom?” 

The man laughs. David watches in awestruck fascination as color bleeds over his cheeks as he does. 

“Would we call what I’m doing ‘creepy’ though?” 

“I mean, you’re standing here, seemingly by yourself, waiting on no one. Where people change clothes. I think it is, by default, a little bit creepy.” 

“Mhm,” The man hums, tone thoughtful. “I see. Well, I _am_ waiting for someone, actually. Someone who is being _very_ quiet.” 

David raises an eyebrow, pushing away the momentary disappointment. Of course, this stranger would be already involved with someone else. Not that it mattered, regardless, which was a small consolation. People like this man have a type and rarely do they ever go for someone as loud as David. 

“Sorry, Uncle Patrick,” A tiny, chipper voice replies a few moments later, bringing David out of his thoughts. 

_Patrick_.

The name fits him (a thought which has simply never occurred to David in this context before, either). It fits him the same way his homegrown attractiveness does, which isn’t a surprise. David finds it all unbearably charming, which thankfully is a thought he can examine much, much later. Preferably with a few glasses of wine to bolster him and a few dozen miles between himself and the temptation.

David’s sure Patrick reassures the little kid, as he hears the low, placating tones, but he can’t be bothered to remember what exactly it is that he says. 

“Does that satisfy your quest to prove I’m not here for nefarious purposes?” 

David sigh, but he doesn’t need a mirror to know the face he’s making right now more likely than not gives him away completely. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s still not completely charmed, that’s simply not the case. David's defenses are already down from the rough day and promise of pretzels, and this man is about to plow through them entirely.

And the thing is, David isn't really sure he minds all that much.

“For now, I guess it’s acceptable. Though your excuse is shaky. That could _easily_ be a child actor in there. You can’t fool me. I’ve been a child actor before. I know these things.” 

That gets him another laugh, and that sends a pleasant rush washing right up David’s spine. 

“That seems rather elaborate for a small-town mall, don’t you think?” 

David shrugs. 

“Not in my experience.” 

“I see. Just _what_ kind of small-town malls have you been visiting, then?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” David replies, coyly, just because they both know he’s full of shit, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to have fun with it. 

“Yeah, I mean, that’s usually one’s intent when they ask a question,” Patrick quips. 

He’s kind of a dick in the best kind of way, and David — David can feel the proverbial nail close the proverbial coffin shut. 

Shit.

“Uh-huh. And here I thought you were just trying to waste my time.” 

Patrick grins. “And yet you’re still talking to me.” 

“Lucky for you, you’re the most entertaining person I’ve talked to today,” David replies. Stevie obviously isn’t coming back any time soon, and David _did_ come here for an opinion. He’s not sure the man in front of him will give him a straight answer, but David is willing to take the risk for the possible (but unlikely) reward. “I’m definitely going to regret asking, but since you’re here…” 

David trails off, hoping Patrick will take the hint. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, Patrick raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively. Or his lack of an eyebrow. David almost hates himself a little for finding it as attractive as he does. 

It must be the fumes. From the subpar clothing currently infecting his body. Definitely not the effortless charm he mentioned before. 

“Now that I’m here…?” Patrick questions, once it’s obvious David isn’t going to say anything else. 

David takes a breath, releases it, and then takes another. 

“I can’t believe I’m asking someone who is _obviously_ wearing a button-down from Walmart… but this is a look, right?” 

Patrick doesn’t even miss ab eat. “I got these clothes from Sears, I believe.” 

“Oh, God.” 

David doesn’t know much about Sears, other than the fact that Alexis had a very short-lived youth clothing line. And that all of the pieces were horrible and obviously chosen by an eleven-year-old with no taste. Which was apparently best-selling among other eleven-year-olds with a lack of taste. Who would have thought.

Certainly not David.

“Actually, maybe it was Kmart,” Patrick continues, thoughtfully. He sounds like he’s purposefully trying to get a reaction out of David, and it’s _working_.  Even if David’s almost positive he got it right the first time, that doesn’t stop him from being appropriately horrified at the prospect. 

“I think I feel a little faint, actually.” 

Patrick moves aside to gesture at the bench behind him. He’s infuriatingly good at keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, well thankfully there’s a bench here that happens to be perfect for fainting on. Just in case.”

David’s mouth twists to the side. How is he so charmed by this? Patrick wears his assholery in a way that David’s simply never seen before now: with a tender softness David didn’t think was possible. Maybe it’s because Patrick isn’t actually an asshole, that much is already clear. 

“How generous,” David finally mutters, though the barb is hardly annoyed enough for his liking. 

That seems to be a running theme today. 

“I’d like to think so, yeah.” 

“You’re certainly very sure of yourself,” David says, and can’t even find it within himself to feel embarrassed over how impressed he sounds. 

“So I’ve been told,” Patrick grins. “So, I believe you were in the process of asking me something?” 

David hums. “I believe I already asked,” David says, snippily. 

Patrick looks — _amused_ , maybe even a little charmed himself, which is odd. No one is ever amused by David’s unnecessary edges. 

“I don’t know what a “look” means, but you look, uh — it looks… nice.” 

David should probably be offended by that, but something on Patrick’s face tells him it’s a good thing. A very good thing, going by the colors his cheeks are turning. 

“Hm. Just nice?” 

“Very nice,” Patrick corrects, sounding a little breathless. Like maybe they’re words he’s never said in a situation quite like this before. David shivers from the implications. “You look very nice.” 

Though David’s still a little surprised by how quickly Patrick’s bashfulness has appeared, it sets off a protectiveness usually reserved solely for his sister’s outrageously dangerous ventures. 

David doesn’t hate it.

“That’s much more acceptable,” David concedes, a small smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, stranger.” 

David’s reply bursts forward before he even registers it’s coming. 

“David.” 

Patrick grins like that singular word is a prize. “David, then. I’m Patrick.” 

David already knew that, but he nods anyway. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but that’s the first time you’ve been nice to me since I walked out of the dressing room five minutes ago, so…” 

“Now that’s not true,” Patrick replies, smirking. “I’m only making conversation.” 

“Teasing and _rude_ conversation, maybe.” 

“Oh, am I rude now, too?” Patrick asks, and _god_. 

The light in his eyes tells David that the man really is _actually_ flirting with him and it’s not just something he’s only wishing to see there. David hasn’t let himself give in to this feeling since Jake. That hadn’t been a complete disaster, which is better than usual, though it had been close. 

This — This might be better. 

“I think you know exactly how rude you are.” 

Patrick’s grin turns shit-eating. “Maybe. Got to entertain myself somehow.” 

“Hm.” 

David doesn’t know how much longer he can stand here, talking — _flirting —_ with an attractive guy in clothes that aren’t his. 

Suddenly, he's overwhelmed with the feeling that he can't stand it any longer, and he takes a few steps back.

“So, I’m just gonna…” David trails off, gesturing behind him. He’d definitely feel more comfortable talking to Patrick in a sweater with a notable thread count right now. 

It’s quiet for several long moments after David shuts the dressing room door. He starts to peel off the department store sweater and holds back another audible sigh. The Givenchy piece he shoulders on feels like a piece of armor locking back into place, and it should be stupid how much easier it is to breathe, luxuriously soft material notwithstanding.

Though David likes to think he is a pillar of personal growth, this might still be out of his wheelhouse yet. Though he can’t say he regrets the process. It did lead him to meeting Patrick, after all. 

By the time David gets his pants back on, he’s convinced Patrick has most likely already left. So, he’s almost knocked off his feet when someone else breaks the silence. 

“You kinda blew that one, Uncle Patrick.” 

David had honestly forgotten Patrick was here with a child. 

Despite himself, though, David’s laugh comes out unbidden. 

“ _Harper_.” 

The bashful Patrick David got a peek at before doesn’t compare to the sheer embarrassment radiating off of him now. David wonders how it's possible for it to light him up like this with a literal wall between them, and then decides he doesn't care. 

“Sorry,” the kid apologizes, not sounding very sorry at all. David hangs on to every last word. “Mom says you need all the help you can get when it comes to flirting with boys.” 

David doesn’t think he needs as much help as the kid keeps suggesting, but David (thankfully) doesn’t share that thought with the class just yet. 

It’s hardly the first time he’s been flirted with by a stranger in a dressing room but rarely do people continue flirting after catching themselves on David’s bullshit. 

And here Patrick is, continuing to flirt with him like it’s nothing. Like it’s _easy_. 

Repeatedly. 

“No ice cream for you,” Patrick grumbles, his voice tight with embarrassment. 

“Maybe a small ice cream wouldn’t hurt,” David cuts in, unable to help himself.

There’s the sound of something thudding to the floor as if whoever was holding it dropped it in shock. David smiles, imagines that it might be Patrick’s phone. Did he think David was just going to stay silent until they left or something? 

Probably. 

It’s not like David’s said anything since literally running in here a few minutes ago. 

“Oh, _god_.” 

There’s a small giggle. 

“Maybe you didn’t blow _all_ of your chances.” 

David would have to agree. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Patrick replies, sounding pained, though there’s amusement there now, too. 

David doesn’t know how he’s found himself here — though something tells him he owes Stevie a bottle of wine at the very least — utterly charmed by a man who dresses like a business major stuck in the early two-thousands, but _fuck_. Now that he’s here, he wants to hold onto this for as long as he can.

Which is saying something, in all honesty. 

David’s spent most of his adult life chasing various ways to escape reality. If only his therapist could see him now. 

David turns around to inspect himself in the mirror. Once he deems himself presentable enough, he grabs the clothes he’d just tried on, slinging them over his arm. Maybe he hasn’t made quite enough personal growth to warrant buying these just yet, but he's not an _animal_. The least he can do is put them back on the restocking rack. 

When David (finally) exits his dressing room, Patrick is in the same spot David left him in. His arms are crossed over his chest, and there’s a definite flush to his face that David finds himself wanting to feel pressed against his palm. 

“Hi,” David greets, a small smirk stretching his lips. 

“Hi,” Patrick says, and the flush, for a few moments, deepens. “So, uh, I suppose there’s no chance we can both pretend you didn’t hear all that, huh?” 

David laughs. “Yeah, there’s no chance in hell I’m letting this go any time soon. That’s part of the contract.” 

“Contract?” Patrick asks, cocking his head slightly. 

David smirks. “Mhm. The contract of me giving you my number. ‘Being able to tease you about your disastrous attempts at flirting with me in a Dillard’s dressing room’ is going to be right at the top of the stipulation list.” 

Patrick’s expression melts into one of gentle awe, and it is at once both too light and too heavy. David doesn't deserve to be looked at like that, not even a little, but Patrick doesn't seem to have received that particular memo.

“Right at the top?” 

“Mhm, yep. That’s right.” 

“I think that’s a stipulation I can live with,” Patrick replies, sounding thoughtful. “Though I might want to see the full list before I commit.” 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t disclose that kind of information until after the first date.” 

“I see. So one must agree to a date before having access to this sacred stipulation list?” 

“Can’t have any go-getters having an unfair advantage,” David quips back. 

“Uh-huh. Well, in that case. What are you going to be doing in, oh… approximately thirty-five minutes from now?” 

David bites his lip on a smile. “Making my way back to Schitt’s Creek, probably.” 

For some reason, Patrick does not give this statement the proper horror it deserves. Instead, he looks almost _elated_. 

“What do you say about meeting me at Cafe Tropical at eight o’clock?” 

“Oh _god_ ,” David says, horrified. “You know it?” 

“Oh, that I do, David. I just moved to town a few days ago, so I haven’t had the opportunity to taste it personally, but I hear it’s at least moderately edible.”

What the fuck. David would be the one to run into the new guy in town three towns over. 

“I could be amenable to that,” David replies. 

Patrick grins. “Good. Great, uh.” Patrick’s starting to look sheepish again, and it’s just as endearing as the first time. “Totally unrelated, but is your phone number still up for the taking?” 

David doesn’t try to hide his grin this time. 

“It sure is.” 

——————————

David finds Stevie at a lone table on the far end of the food court. There are two containers of pretzels in front of her, and he valiantly pretends the sight of them doesn’t send a pleasant warmth straight to his heart. She doesn’t see him approach, too engrossed in something on her phone. He sits across from her anyway, and sighs in true David Rose fashion. 

“So, how was Mr. Mid Range Denim?” Stevie asks, without even looking up from her screen.

“I don’t know who you’re referring to,” David replies. He’s not about to make this _easier_ on her just because she got him pretzels. And possibly a date, though he'd argue he did that mostly by himself.

“Your face says it all,” Stevie replies, looking victorious. David frowns at her. “It went well, didn’t it?”

“Um, that’s subjective.” 

“Oh, so it went really well,” Stevie corrects herself. “David, you’re _glowing_.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stevie cackles, like the demon spawn she is. “So, did you get his number?” 

As if on a quest to rat him out, his phone chimes loudly in his pocket before the question is even finished leaving her mouth. To be fair, the smile that he immediately beats back probably doesn't help his case in that regard, either. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

David’s mouth twists in an attempt to hide his smile. “There’s no need to be so smug.” 

“Oh, I think I have plenty of reason to be smug,” Stevie counters. “And I especially think a gifted bottle of wine should be in my future, as well.”

David makes a face. “That can be taken under consideration if you’re sure you’re willing to risk infection from the general store to get it.” 

“That’s never stopped me before.” 

He makes a face. 

“Well, maybe it should start to,” David replies. 

“There’s something else,” Stevie says, narrowing her eyes at him like she already knows what that ‘something else’ is.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“David.” 

Listening to Stevie gloat about this is going to suck, and it's hardly how he wants to spend the car ride back to Schitt’s Creek, but, still, what tumbles out of his mouth is, 

“We need to get back to Schitt’s Creek as soon as possible,” he says. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> some end notes: 
> 
> \- harper is the child of one of patrick's cousins that are 'more like siblings' since i love that little nugget of information the show gave us and thought it'd be fun to write  
> \- sorry for david's casual classism, i too shopped at kmart/sears back in the day i swear  
> \- this is my very first time writing stevie, so please be gentle. its been a while since I've written a character like her and i wanted to start with something small before venturing into writing her more 
> 
> if you'd like, feel free to follow/prompt/scream at me on my tumblr (breweroses) or twitter (rosebrewed). thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed! let me know what you think!!!


End file.
